


No One Should Be Alone For Christmas

by unadulteratedstorycollector



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, First Time, Healer Harry Potter, Implied Attempted Suicide, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Praise Kink, Werewolf Draco Malfoy, Werewolf wounds, both during werewolf transformations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-10 23:08:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12922185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unadulteratedstorycollector/pseuds/unadulteratedstorycollector
Summary: The last person Harry expected to see on his ward is Draco Malfoy. After sixteen years of not seeing him, Harry doesn't expect to see Draco Malfoy anywhere. But here he is. It's where he's going that concerns Harry.





	No One Should Be Alone For Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the mods for their patience and brilliance! Thank you to my beta, J, for holding my hand through this when I wanted to give up, and for ensuring me that I wasn't doing a terrible job. maraudersaffair I really hope you like this! I tried to get in as many likes as you had, and I'm worried it came out a little more angsty than I would normally write.

“Healer Potter to Reception, Code 28.”

Harry is hiding in the break room, trying to grab five minutes rest, when the alarm goes off. Groaning internally, he slips his Healer robes back over his head and pushes the break room door open. Moving quickly, he heads towards Reception, running through what needs to be done. It’s Teddy’s fault, really. If he hadn’t started exhibiting werewolf tendencies when he was one then Harry wouldn’t have chosen to specialise. He could be sitting in Magical Bugs and Diseases dealing with Dragon Pox. That sounds nice.

Skidding around the corner in his disgusting, but comfortable trainers, he arrives in Reception to find a snarling Draco Malfoy being wrestled onto a stretcher. His hair is matted and almost black with blood, large gashes slash across his face and chest, thicker and more twisted than the Sectumsempra slices from sixth year. His arms are in ribbons, heavy claw marks ripped into them, and Harry knows. This isn’t an accident.

“Talk to me,” Harry yells as he gets closer to the stretcher. A worried looking nurse frowns at him, his teeth gritted as he tries to find somewhere to insert a needle. Anything to calm Draco down.

“He was found by an off-duty Auror. They managed to get him here but as soon as he realised where he was he started kicking off,” another nurse yells as they press down on Draco’s leg, attempting to put a strap around it. 

“If we don’t get him still and a Blood-Rep in him soon we’ll lose him,” the worried nurse shouts over a particularly loud yowl from Draco. There’s too much blood and Draco is moving too much for them to be able to use their wands. Harry slides over to the front of the stretcher, his hands reaching out to run over Draco’s shoulders.

“Fuck off and let me die!” Draco howls, thrashing against the nurses holding him down. Blood seeps through their fingers and one of Draco’s arms slips loose. Harry moves without thinking, his wand slipping into his hand, casting the strongest Immobulus he can. The ward is silent in an instant, Draco’s eyes wide and flitting around Harry’s face as he lies there. Harry pants, the force of the spell making him a little dizzy and he leans against the strether for a moment, looking down at Draco’s face.

“Healer Potter?” a soft voice next to him brings him back to the moment and he stands, straightening his robes and holding his wand out again.

“Right, we need to get him to Dai Llewellyn,” Harry starts barking orders, his wand moving over Draco as he speaks, casting Vulnera Sanentur wordlessly, Draco’s wounds starting to bind back together. “I need Grade A Essence of Dittany: Silver Infused, a litre of Blood-Rep, a quart of Wolfsbane and two doses of Draught of Peace. And I need it yesterday.” He finishes his spell and swipes his wand over the stretcher, levitating it to follow him as he moves through the hallway, nurses rushing behind him. Harry takes a deep breath, his heart hammering in his chest and his legs almost numb.

Of all the people he expected to see, to be called for an emergency werewolf transformation, Draco Malfoy was probably at the bottom of the list.

~~~~~

Lights flash over his eyes as he moves through the hospital, stuck still. He’s at the fucking hospital. The last place he wanted to be. The whole reason he found himself a nice quiet spot in the corner of Hyde Park was that he could quietly claw at himself without being interrupted. And now he can’t move. Itchy panic wells up in his chest, spilling into his throat. Maybe he’ll choke on his tongue. That would be ironic. The lights suddenly dim, glowing orbs fading in and out of his vision. Someone is mumbling, and he’s pretty sure they’re talking about him. He’s moved into a room and the Potter is back.

The pain is unbearable, stabbing through him as potions are poured down his motionless throat and spells shimmer over him. He wants to twist, to writhe in pain. To die. But he can’t. He can’t move. Fucking Potter, of course it’s Potter, cast a spell on him. Why couldn’t they have just left him alone? He was happy alone, torn to pieces and bleeding out. He’d had enough Wolfsbane to know what he was doing, to know when that stupid fucking Auror had brought him in. To know that the Healers were going to try to save him.

They can’t save him. No one can save him.

*****

Harry hadn’t bothered to go to sleep. Sure, he was technically off for the next 24 hours, but he was the only specialist in werewolf healing in the country, and he wanted to be back at the hospital when Draco woke up. It was rare for a werewolf to be admitted to St Mungo’s, they usually healed their wounds themselves, and what with new regulations for Wolfsbane it was much safer and easier for them to transform quietly at home. But when one did come in it was usually for one of three reasons. A fight with another werewolf. An attack from a misguided member of society. Or… “intentional self-sustained wounds”. Harry didn’t need the seven years of experience he had to know that Draco was the latter.

He walks into St Mungo’s, waving to the receptionist, a young girl just out of Hogwarts, and heads up to Dai Llewellyn. Draco should be awake by now. He’d need another dose of Draught of Peace. And a referral to a Mind Healer. Maybe Dean would take him. He worked well with Lavender. He moves on autopilot, his mind lost on what is needed to help Draco. 

“Healer Potter,” Nancy, a senior nurse who was probably a nurse before Harry was born, comes up next to him as he enters the ward. The lights are low, glowing orbs hanging around in the corners, and Harry feels immediately calmer. He smiles at Nancy and she hands him a chart. “He’s just waking up. I’ve been giving him Dit-Sil all night, and he probably needs some more Blood-Rep, but he should be alright,” she rattles off, smiling at Harry as he nods along. She’s the best nurse in the hospital, and Harry is grateful she was on duty when Draco was brought in.

“How’s the scarring?” he asks, mentally preparing himself. It’s always easier to have a face of placid indifference if he knows what he’s walking into. He still remembers the first time he had to tend to someone who had accidentally grown another head. Mainly because Nancy won’t let him forget. She even bottled her memory of it for him so that he could see the look on his face.

“Not good, but not the worst we’ve seen. His arms are probably the worst of it. He’ll have a pretty scar on the side of his face, and maybe a couple on his chest, but he seemed to know pretty much where to scratch for him to… for the desired effect.” She looks sad, and Harry nods, resting his hand on her arm and giving it a light squeeze. These patients are the worst. Self-inflicted.

“Thanks, Nancy,” he mutters, keeping his voice low as they get closer to Draco’s private room, “and if I don’t see you, have a good Christmas.” Her face brightens a little, even though her eyes still swim with despair and she gives him a watery smile.

“You too, love.” And with that she turns to go back to the front desk, leaving Harry to go into the room on his own. Taking a deep breath, he grasps at the handle and silently opens the door.

Draco is sitting up in bed, dark circles under dark grey eyes, a livid scar on the side of his face, his hair now the normal Malfoy white blond. He looks ill. Ill is good. Ill, Harry can heal. Nearly dead is not so good. Harry gives him a smile and closes the door behind himself, keeping them in the low light of the ward. Draco scowls at him, and Harry can see his eyes flickering over Harry’s robes. It would be nice if they weren’t lime green, but with funding going on ridiculous things like painting the walls, and not on important things, like new equipment, the colour of his robes is a fight Harry can’t be bothered with.

“So. You,” Draco sneers and Harry nods, flicking through the chart Nancy gave him before moving over to the medicine cabinet. “Why are you here?” Draco’s voice sounds high, strained, and Harry knows he’s probably thirsty. And hungry. It’s Teddy’s main complaint after a full moon. Harry points his wand at a large glass on the table next to Draco, and fills it with a quick Aguamenti, before turning back to the chart. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Draco grabbing the glass and downing the water. Smirking to himself, he sends another Aguamenti at the glass and then takes two bottles from the cabinet.

~~~~~

“I’m here because I’m the specialist in werewolf healing,” Potter answers Draco’s question, finally, and starts to walk towards Draco, two bottles in his hand. Draco’s stomach churns, his skin burning as the words sink in. Someone knows. And not just anyone. Fucking Potter. Tears scratch at the corner of his eyes, shame crawling over him. Of course Potter would be the one to see him like this. He moves to rub at his face, needing to feel the stretch and burn of it, to peel his skin off. “Oh.” Potter’s hand is soft but firm on his as he stops Draco’s hands, “I wouldn’t do that. The skin is still fragile.”

“What the fuck do you care?” Draco spits, the words building in his chest and spilling out, hot anger making him numb. Something flickers in Potter’s eyes and then he sighs, Accioing a chair and sitting next to Draco. Draco hates him, the feeling twisting at him, and he snarls, like the animal he is. Potter doesn’t react, nothing more than a soft smile and those fucking eyes flickering over Draco’s face. He feels disgusting, his body stiff and inflamed. And very much still alive.

“It’s my job to care.” Potter shrugs, tucking his wand into his pocket, “or maybe I do this job because I care,” Potter chuckles at himself and Draco scowls. Potter is not funny. Nothing about this is funny. This is a gross invasion of his privacy. He hasn’t seen another human being since he was— since the accident. Since his parents— Sighing he flops back into his pillows. His stomach churns and his mouth is dry, but he hardly notices. It’s like this every month. And really, he only has to go through this once more. Next month, he can find somewhere quieter. Maybe abroad. No one would look for him abroad.

“Draco,” Potter whispers, and Draco’s head whips up, his back stiff, his muscles twitching. How dare Potter call him by his first name! They aren’t friends. The Saviour of the Wizarding World is not friends with a monster. Potter holds the bottles up and something in Draco flinches back. For a second there’s that look on Potter’s face, like a cloud of worry, and then it’s gone. “You need to take this for me. Blood Replenisher and Draught of Peace. It’ll stop the itching.” Draco eyes him warily. Why is Potter helping him? It doesn’t make sense. Draco brings his knees up to his chest. He wants to hide, his throat is tight, his scalp itching and his eyes sore where he’s forcing himself not to cry.

“I don’t need them,” he croaks and Potter’s hand is on him again, the fingers long and kind and Draco flinches away from those, too. Potter frowns slightly, unstopping a vial, and pressing it into Draco’s hand.

“Healer’s orders, I’m afraid. Or I’ll have to immobilise you, again.” Potter’s voice is strong and Draco feels his body relax into it a bit. He downs the potion, his eyes still on Potter. Potter’s eyes are… kind. No one has looked at him like that in years. Why would they? Look at what he is. Potter smiles, a bright excited smile, and hands the other vial over to Draco. Draco downs that one, instantly feeling better, the potion cooling in his stomach. “Thank you,” Potter says, standing up and looking at the clipboard, “Now is there anyone you want us to call? Your notes say that they couldn’t get hold of your parents at Malfoy Manor, do you have a Floo address for—”

“No. They won’t want to know.” He cringes at how small his voice sounds. Potter stops, an eyebrow raised, hand still resting on the notes. Draco tightens his hold on his knees, hiding from the intensity of the gaze, and wishes he wasn’t there. Wishes he didn't exist at all.

“Hmm…” Potter mutters, his eyes unblinking as he watches Draco. Draco curls tighter, not sure whether to run or stay still. Potter is tall, almost looming as he stands and stares. The disgusting green robes suit him in a weird way, making his eyes seem richer, brighter. But then, everything looks a little brighter to Draco, the day after… hmm. His skin does feel less itchy, but there isn’t a potion in the world that could stop the sick feeling rising in his throat, the prickly heat of embarrassment as Harry Potter looks at him, that burning focus on him and him alone. He coughs, if anything just to relieve the tension in the air.

“If you could kindly fuck off—”

“What are you doing for Christmas?” Potter’s question stops him in the middle of his rant. Did Potter just ask... Why would he ask that? It’s none of his business. Panic wells in his stomach, his skin too tight and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. And all Potter does is stare. 

“What?” he snaps, because it’s the only way he can think to talk to Potter and Potter smiles.

“You should come to mine. Usually, I go to the Weasley’s, but Hermione and Ron are going to Australia this year to see her parents, and Gin is away with Quidditch practice. So, I’m having it at home. Just me and Ted.” Potter doesn’t stop talking as he scribbles something down on a piece of paper and puts it next to Draco. It’s a Floo address. Draco’s mouth drops open, his head swimming. Potter just asked him to his house for Christmas. He stares with wide eyes as Potter taps the paper twice and moves to leave the room. “Nancy will be back to check on you later, and you’ll be discharged this evening. Come tomorrow, it’s Christmas Eve. No one should be alone on Christmas.” And, with that, he walks out of the room, leaving Draco perplexed and ashamed.

*****

The Floo rushes to life and Harry stands up, ready to greet Draco. His stomach twists nervously and he tugs lightly at his hoodie. The Christmas tree makes the room glow green and red, and there are three stockings next to it. Presents sprawl over the floor, probably too many, but Harry is nothing if not a doting Godfather. For a brief moment Harry worries about what Draco will think. And then Draco steps out of the Floo and Harry doesn’t have a chance to be worried.

“Hey,” he says, watching as Draco stands straight, nervous eyes flitting around the room. He’s wearing a loose fitting tshirt with a zipped hoodie hanging open and jogging bottoms slung low on his hips, all with the St Mungo’s logo on. Harry smiles softly. Nancy clearly looked after him well. He shuffles on the spot, a harsh blush rising in his cheeks and Harry wants to take him in his arms. The feeling twists in his stomach, reminding him of all those late nights in eighth year spent studying together, of wanting Draco, before he disappeared from Harry’s life.

“Hello… Harry.” Draco’s voice is small and Harry moves, needing to be closer to him. He rests a hand on Draco’s shoulder, trying to avoid the scars he knows will be on his arms and torso, probably still sore and tender to the touch. Draco’s eyes find his, the silver grey of them swirling.

“I’m glad you came,” Harry whispers and Draco’s lips quiver for a moment before he takes a deep breath, standing taller so that his eyes are in line with Harry’s. Harry forces himself not to lean forward. It isn’t what is needed. It’s not why Harry asked him to come for Christmas.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Draco murmurs and Harry grins, forcing a twitch at the corner of Draco’s mouth. His gorgeous, quirky mouth. Harry’s skin prickles. He’s standing too close. Close enough that he can see the tiny freckles that line Draco’s perfect nose, the harsh lines of new scarring at the side of his face, spidery and jagged. His chest tightens and his throat closes. Taking a deep breath he forces the feeling away. This isn’t about him. It’s about helping Draco.

“No problem,” Harry shrugs, moving away and running a hand through his hair. “Uh… so this is the living room. Your bedroom is up here. It’s not on the same floor as mine, I hope that’s ok.” He turns and leaves the room, Draco following close behind him as he makes his way up the stairs. He clenches his butt with every step, knowing that his jeans hug it, on the off chance that Draco is looking. This really isn’t about him. It’s about Draco. 

“It’s… thank you.” Draco mumbles and Harry’s heart jumps.

~~~~~

“I thought you said that… um… Teddy?” Draco stutters as the silence becomes almost unbearable. The silence and Harry’s arse, centimeters from his face as he follows up the stairs. It’s beautiful and rounded, and Draco doesn’t deserve anything as good as Harry Potter and whatever kindness he’s bestowing on him. Harry pauses for a moment and Draco nearly bumps into him, frisson running through him as Harry’s back collides with his front. Harry turns and gives him a soft smile.

“Oh. Yeah. He’s asleep.” Harry shrugs, a sort of rough inelegant shrug that Draco is starting to find soothing. Draco nods, clenching his fists so that he doesn’t itch at his skin. The nurse, who reminded him of Madam Pomfrey, told him not to itch his skin. If he itches, the skin will break and the scars will be worse. If he’s going to live through this, he’d rather not have more scars. His chest feels tight and he nods, not able to meet Harry’s eyes. 

“How old is he?” he asks, because he can’t think of anything else to say.

“Seventeen. Not really a kid any more. Although he acts like one,” Harry laughs, a deep sort of laugh that vibrates through Draco, echoing in his heart. He lifts his eyes, a chill running down his spine and tension tight in his neck. Harry smiles, before turning and continuing up the stairs. Something stirs in Draco’s stomach that he can’t quite distinguish. Disappointment. Relief. Something.

“And he’s my cousin?” he asks. Clearly being in Harry Potter’s house is making his brain stop working. Although he can’t remember the last time he used his brain for anything. Not really. It doesn’t take much brain power to sit in his house and wait for the next new moon.

“I guess, yeah. He’s your cousin’s kid,” Harry says, “I don’t know, I’m not great with family trees.” They arrive at a door and Harry turns and leans against the doorframe, arms crossed against a broad chest. Shame washes over Draco, the sort of twisting shame that makes him feel smaller than he ever has before. There is no reason for Harry to be nice to him. They haven’t spoken since eighth year. Since he was bitten a week after their N.E.W.T.s.

“Right.” He runs a hand along his arm, a sharp stabbing pain reminding him that he’s going to have to be gentle with them.

“Yeah. This is your room. See you in the morning.” Harry opens the door, giving Draco a soft stroke on his shoulder that send shivers through Draco, and then turning to walk up the stairs.

“Good night,” Draco breathes after him, and for a second Harry freezes, before continuing up stairs.

*****

“Harry! It’s Christmas!” Teddy’s voice rings through the house and Harry groans, burying his head into his pillow. Teddy is nearly an adult. He doesn’t even have the Trace on him anymore. Surely he should be grumbling in his room until the afternoon and only emerging for food and presents. “Harry!” the shout comes again, accompanied by a loud banging on his bedroom door, and Harry groans, sitting up. Why did he ever think it was a good idea to put Teddy in Regulus’s old room? Sure, in theory it’s nice to have them both on the same floor, and it was good when he was younger, and it’s not like Harry needs the privacy. But this is a definite downside. The banging gets louder and he chucks his pillow at the door.

“I’m coming!” he growls and the sound of young, warm laughter comes from the other side of the door. 

“Hurry up!” Teddy shouts, banging the door again and Harry swings his legs out of the bed, rubbing at his face. He feels around for his glasses, slipping them on and scratching at his hair. Why does he have such a boisterous teenager in his house? The banging starts up again, and Harry moans, picking up an old tshirt and pair of jogging bottoms from the floor and slipping them on. He stumbles over to his bedroom door and swings it open.

“Hey, Ted.” He grins wearily at the boy— man— in front of him, running a hand over his face in an attempt to stop himself from yawning.Teddy’s hair is flashing green and red, and he is beaming. It’s like this every year. Teddy just really loves Christmas.

“Hey, Harry. It’s Christmas,” he points out, completely redundantly. He’s already wearing his Christmas jumper.

“Yes, it is,”Harry laughs, reaching up and ruffling Teddy’s hair, before starting to walk down the stairs. Behind him Teddy growls, before flattening his hair out and thumping down the stairs after Harry. Teddy can change his body into anything. It would be nice if he changed his body into something that made quieter footsteps. They get to the second landing and stop outside Draco’s door. Harry’s stomach swoops slightly, his head light and his fingers numb. On the other side of that door is Draco, asleep on a bed that Harry knows is soft and comfortable and covered in a thick goose-down duvet. His feet itch to walk into the room, to climb into the bed with him.

Teddy touches his shoulder, slender fingers tickling at Harry’s collarbone and Harry jumps, eyes wide and scalp tingling as he looks between Teddy and Draco’s door. Teddy looks excited, his eyes sparkling, his hair taking on a suspiciously blond tint, his nose becoming straighter. Harry loves these moments, when Teddy relaxes enough to forget to control what he looks like, tiny peeks of what he’s thinking of coming through in his appearance.

“Should I?” Teddy points to the door and Harry smiles softly, his heart hammering in his chest.

“If you want to.” His voice sounds smooth, nonchalant, and he’s eternally grateful for Healer training. There is no way he could have controlled himself like this when he was a teenager. Teddy bounces a little on the spot before reaching forward with an impressively steady hand and knocks.

“Uh… Draco?” he calls.

~~~~~

“Draco?” The sweet, deep voice floats into his dreams, startling him from it. He scowls into his pillow, sinking his head further into it as he tries to cling onto the dream. There was Harry. And his scars. Shame floods him and his body curls, the sheets brushing against the sensitive skin on his arms and face.

“He might be asleep Ted. It is seven in the morning.” Harry’s deep rumble is quiet through the wood, quieter than the voice that must be Teddy. Flashes of his dream spring to mind. Harry telling him that he could have loved him, once. Before the bite. Before the scars. He shakes his head in a vague attempt to get rid of the memories, his body shaking.

“But it’s Christmas!” Teddy’s loud groan comes through the door, grounding Draco. He focuses on the sheets, the vague glimmer of light piercing the curtains, the sting of his arms. He’s not in his dream. Harry could never have loved him.

“Ted, you’re seventeen, please don’t whine.” Harry’s voice is light but warning, the sort of voice he used when he told Draco to take his medicines. He winces as he remembers the cream he’s supposed to rub on his arms. Essence of Dittany and Silver. Apparently it’ll make his skin shimmer. Too bright for someone with Draco’s condition.

“Harry, you’re thirty-five, please don’t treat me like a kid,” Teddy retorts and Draco feels a bubble of amusement in his chest. He doesn’t know what his cousin looks like, he hasn’t been in contact with any of his family for sixteen years, but he can imagine the look on Harry’s face. Strong but with that twitch at the corner of his mouth like he’s trying not to laugh.

“You are a kid. Ouch!” Harry’s voice gets suddenly loud, but it’s full of laughter and happiness. He’s always been able to do that, fill his life with pseudo-siblings and family, in a way that Draco never has. He’d feel envious, but he knows it’s his fault, so what’s the point. He keeps his eyes shut tight, his ears pricked for the sound of movement outside his door. Maybe if he doesn’t respond they’ll go away and he can spend the day in bed. It’s nice to be in a bed like this. “Ok, I don’t think he’s up. Wanna go and wait for him downstairs?” Harry asks and a twist of relief and disappointment rushes through him.

“No! I want him to wake up. It’s Christmas. And he’s family, right? So he needs to be up!” Teddy sounds very excited and Draco groans quietly. There is no way Harry isn’t going to give in to that. There’s a very gentle knock on the door and then a soft creak as it opens.

“Draco?” Harry whispers through the gloom and Draco’s heart clenches.

“Hmm?” he mumbles into the pillow, trying not to rub his face against it too much. Harry has ridiculous white sheets, and if Draco rubs too hard he could break the skin and bleed all over them. The thought makes his stomach churn.

“Sorry, I have a rather insistent seventeen year old here who wants to open presents…” Harry’s footsteps get closer, his voice pleading and light. Draco moans, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. The nurse washed it for him. It feels softer than it has in a while.

“Yes. Sorry. I’m up.” He gestures and Harry nods once, turning and leaving the room swiftly. Draco’s throat tightens as he searches for the trousers that the nurse gave him. They’re disgusting and unflattering, and possibly the most comfortable things he’s ever worn. Slipping them on, he tugs at the tshirt he slept in, righting it. He shuffles to the door to find a tall, thin, excitable young man bouncing in front of him.

“Hey! Draco, right?” The boy, Teddy, obviously, holds out his hand, his hair rapidly changing from red to blond, and his eyes taking on a surprisingly silver tone. It’s like looking in a very weird, changeable mirror. Draco takes the hand in front of his, shaking it gently, his heart pounding as he forces a smile.

“Yes. You must be Teddy.” It’s a redundant statement. Of course this is Teddy. It couldn’t be anyone else. And from what Harry has said about him, all those years ago in the quiet of the eighth year dorm, he’s half werewolf and half Metamorphmagus. Which explains the hair and eyes.

“That’s me!” Teddy shouts, looking proud, as his eyes skim over Draco, his hair fading back to flashing green and red. “Hey, awesome scar. My dad had one like that.” he points at Draco’s face, and Draco can’t help shrinking back a little. He hates this. Hates what he is. What he’s become. He used to command a room. He used to bite and spit, and now he flinches. It’s Harry’s fault. Harry and his seemingly pointless niceties. 

“If you’re unlucky, he’ll show you his,” Harry puts in and Draco turns to look at him. He has his arms crossed over his chest, a secret, mischievous smile on his face, his eyes shining like he’s sharing a joke with Draco. Like they always talk about Teddy. Like Draco belongs here.

“Hey! Mine is the best,” Teddy exclaims, lifting up his tshirt to reveal a smooth boy-like chest with three large scars diagonally across it. Draco tries not to react as he watches Teddy and Harry laugh with each other. Teddy points to Harry’s scar, The Scar, dropping his tshirt, “Just because someone has scar envy.” Teddy’s eyes are on his, and now it’s their turn to share a conspiratorial smile. Harry Potter with scar envy. Funny. Fuzzy amusement and unfamiliar warmth settles in the air around Draco and he’s just about to say something when Teddy jumps, grabbing his hand and narrowly missing the scars on his wrists. “Anyway! Come on, present time! You’ll like this, Harry does the best presents.” Draco starts, his throat tightening.

“Oh… I don’t think that he’s got me—”

“Of course he has! We went shopping yesterday,” Teddy interrupts, dragging Draco down the stairs as Harry chortles behind them.

*****

“Here,” Harry hands a glass of whiskey to Draco and slides down onto the sofa. He feels ridiculously full, warmth running through him, and a heavy sort of haze hanging in his head. It’s a good thing he loves Teddy, because there is no other way he would have been happy making the Christmas dinner he did for anyone else. Well, apart from maybe the man sitting next to him.

“Thanks,” Draco whispers. Harry watches him for a moment, watches as his pink lips fasten around the glass, amber liquid flowing through them, long column of alabaster skin rippling as he swallows. Fuck, Harry wants to lick at Draco’s Adam’s apple, wants to suck deep bruising marks into his neck. Wants to make Draco lose himself, even if just for a moment. He’s been slowly relaxing all day, not flinching as much when Teddy bounds near him, laughing a rough, cracked laugh, even occasionally teasing Harry with good natured snips. It’s nice. Draco stops drinking and looks over at Harry. Harry jumps and gulps at his whiskey.

“He can be a bit full on,” Harry says when the whiskey has warmed his chest and stomach enough that he can talk. Draco is still watching him with intense, unblinking eyes. Like Harry is prey. The thought sends a shiver through Harry. Werewolves aren’t animals, but there’s definitely an instinct that comes or occasionally. Like when Teddy was thirteen and pissed off at the world.

“Hmm,” Draco hums, his whole body too still and Harry feels drawn to him. He takes another sip of whiskey, forcing himself to keep still. He isn’t the country’s specialist in werewolf healing without knowing when to be still. The air hangs around them and Harry stares into Draco’s eyes. They’re dark, almost black, and Harry knows it’s an after effect of the full moon. Heightened senses and emotions. Actually… maybe Draco doesn’t know that. Maybe Harry should tell him. Later. Instead he takes a deep breath and puts his glass on the coffee table.

“Sorry about this morning, with the scar thing. We always taught Teddy to be proud of his, so he can’t quite understand that some people might not be,” Harry says. It’s been playing in his mind all day, especially after Draco had disappeared and reappeared with faintly glimmering skin.

“No… it was… nice is the wrong word,” Draco replies after a pause, finally looking away from Harry. Harry can feel his pulse in his ears and he laughs, almost in relief.

“Ha, I get what you mean.” He runs a hand through his hair. Draco shuffles in his spot, turning to face Harry, bringing his feet up onto the sofa and leaning his arms on his bent knees. He fiddles with long fingers, and Harry can’t help the images that flood his brain. What he could do with fingers like that. He’s about to lose the control over his mouth and suggest that they try when Draco looks at him again, his eyes lighter. 

“Do you have him a lot?” He asks and Harry can’t stop the grin that stretches over his face.

“He’s nearly an adult, I don’t have him, he lives here,” he answers, not sure how else he can explain his relationship with Teddy. At seventeen years difference, there’s just enough that Harry is the authority, but not quite enough that Teddy considers him a parent. Not really. Draco is still looking at him, head tilted slightly to one side. Harry shrugs, still smiling, “When he hit fourteen or fifteen he started to want to spend holidays with me. He’s got a bit of a thing for Bill’s daughter Victoire. And Bill… he has scars too.” He watches for signs that Draco understands, the slight twitch of an eyebrow telling him that Draco does. Harry ignores the tug in his chest. Greyback had a lot to answer for. He gives himself a little shake and continues, “Then Andy wanted to move to France and it made sense for Teddy to just move in here.” He finishes with a nod.

“Hmm.” Draco’s eyes float around his face and Harry knows he must be thinking something. Hopefully something positive about the family's treatment of werewolves. That was the reason Harry asked Draco to come for Christmas. Well, one of the reasons.

“Thank you for being here. I know it must have been hard,” Harry whispers and Draco flinches back before seemingly catching himself and straightening his back, stretching his neck as he clears his throat. Harry’s body tenses as he waits for Draco to talk, his neck aching with focus.

“No one has wanted me around for Christmas for a long time. Not since…” Draco trails off and Harry starts, leaning forward to press a hand to Draco’s, heat washing over him. Draco won’t meet his eyes, an ugly red flush spreading across his face, and Harry leans closer.

“You don’t have to tell me. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” Harry insists, his thumb rubbing small circles onto Draco’s hand. Draco leans closer, his hand turning over so that his fingers twine with Harry’s, his eyes stuck on them. Harry moves nearer, Draco’s long, boney foot pressing under his bum.

“Why are you being nice to me?” Draco’s head tilts to the side and Harry’s heart leaps into his throat.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He knows the answer, knows Draco’s answer. It’s absurd, and horrible, but he knows before Draco even opens his lips what he’s going to say. 

Draco’s eyes drop down, but his fingers don’t leave Harry's and Harry holds as still as possible.“Because… I’m a monster—”

“You’re not a monster,” Harry interrupts, as strong as he can be without shouting. He doesn’t want to shout. He doesn’t want to give Draco any more stress. He knows that the few days after the full moon are difficult. Draco scoffs, rolling his eyes, but still not moving.

“I’m not a good man—”

“Yes you are,” he reiterates. Draco looks at him then, grey eyes swimming.

“I’ve never made a good decision in my life—”

“Why would that stop me from being nice to you?” There is nothing in the world that could make Harry stop being nice to Draco. There isn’t very much that could make Harry stop being nice to anyone. Spitting at beloved teachers during a war aside.

“And I left you! Just when we— I left.” Draco points out and Harry forces himself not to flinch back. Draco did leave. He left without a word despite the whispered suggestions of “after exams”, despite the late nights spent curled up by the fire, despite their one kiss. But it doesn’t matter. Because Draco is here now, and he’s clearly had bigger things to deal with.

“You did.” He nods and Draco’s eyes get comically wide, his perfect cupid bow mouth dropping open.

“And you can just forgive me?” He sounds so unsure and Harry wants to take him in his arms and never fucking let go. But he can’t… he needs to help Draco heal, not force him to stay.

“I never blamed you,” he admits and Draco’s eyes become watery, the fire in them from earlier dissipating. 

“Why not?”

“Because we’d never promised each other anything. I just… I wish I knew why you left.” He has a vague idea. The scars on Draco’s body, the older ones, and the bite mark, would all suggest that he’d been turned a long time ago. But he needs to hear it from Draco. He needs to know that Draco wants Harry to know, because he’s Harry, and not because he’s Healer Potter.

“Fenir Greyback had been slipping the authorities for the whole year. He didn’t like me when the Dark Lord— he always wanted to—” Draco cuts off, angrily rubbing at his eyes before returning to play with Harry’s fingers. “He caught me a week after we’d finished.”

Harry’s stomach twists and he forces himself to breathe. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have—”

“Could have what? There was nothing you could have done! My parents bought me a house and I locked myself away. And no one came looking. You wouldn’t have even known if I hadn’t— no one cared.” Draco’s eyes are back on his, on fire and wild, his fingers almost scratching at Harry and Harry knows he should back down. Knows that it isn’t a good idea to rile someone up when they’ve just come out of hospital. He knows. He’s just never been very good at controlling himself around Draco.

“I did care! I did all I could! I went to Malfoy Manor. I wrote to you, but my owls always came back. No one could find you. I couldn’t find you!” He’s yelling, inching closer to Draco and Draco almost cowers back. His shoulders slumping.

“Why would you want to?” he whispers and Harry growls.

“Why do you think?!” Harry can’t believe that Draco wouldn’t know. It’s not like Harry is particularly subtle. He raises his eyebrows pointedly and say as clearly as he can, “I never stopped… I’ve always wanted you.”

“Harry…” Draco’s voice is cracked and Harry twines his fingers with Draco’s, bringing him closer, forcing Draco’s focus onto him.

“Am I going crazy? Is there something here?” he asks. For a moment they sit, staring in silence, the air crackling around them. And then Harry relaxes his hand, leaning into the sofa and Draco takes a deep shuddery breath.

“What made you become a Healer?” Draco’s voice is small, his fingers gentle as they brush against Harry’s and for a moment Harry thinks about shrugging the question off. Not many people ask him. But then Draco looks up, his eyes swimming, and Harry releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“I wanted to do something that no one expected me to do. Something to help people that wasn’t fighting. And then Ted started exhibiting and I wanted to help him. There aren’t many Healers who go through the extra training needed for werewolf healing.” It’s a simple explanation that took him years to figure out. Draco nods, clearly running through this admission in his mind and Harry aches. Everything aches. His neck, his stomach, his heart.

“You just wanted to do something unexpected?” Draco asks, less of a question than a statement, and Harry smiles. 

“Hmm.” He forces himself still, forces himself to not take Draco in his arms, to press his lips to Draco’s and show him that is it possible to do the unexpected. Draco leans closer, his fingers stroking up Harry’s arms and his eyes intense on Harry’s. Harry doesn’t dare breath, dare move, as Draco’s fingers explore his skin. His skin is on fire, his heart hammering and his cock starting to grow in his pants.

“You’re a marvel, Harry Potter,” Draco breathes and Harry huffs a laugh, allowing himself to move closer.

“You’re pretty amazing yourself,” he growls, his nose centimetres from Draco’s. He’s beautiful.

“Harry…” His name sounds precious on Draco’s lips and he moans.

“Please don’t mess with my head, you’ve done that for too long. If you don’t want this, say,” Harry forces the words from his mouth. He feels Draco’s breath hitch, his stomach dropping for a split second before Draco’s lips are on his.

They move together, Draco’s lips soft and responsive in a way Harry hadn’t thought they would be. Their mouths open, tongues stroking against each other, teeth knocking gently as Harry presses between Draco’s legs. Tentative fingers run through Harry’s hair and he feels Draco sighing against him. He tastes like heat, spicy and rich and Harry wants to drown in it. Running his hands along Draco’s sides, he draws back as Draco flinches. Right. Scars. Draco tugs at his hair, bringing him back down and Harry relaxes back into him.

They rock together, their bodies aligned, Harry’s fingers grazing at the soft muscle under Draco’s tshirt, under his trousers, along his arms. He knows it must feel sensitive. Some of his patients have said it feels nice. Some of them hate it. Either way, he’s not going to push Draco for any more than he wants. His hips slide against Draco’s and he feels the hard line of Draco’s cock pressed against his. His hips thrust forward, out of his control, and Draco mewls into his mouth.

Long fingers stroke down Harry’s side, pulling lightly at Harry’s tshirt and Harry sits up, haphazardly shucking his tshirt and trousers before diving back into Draco. Arching his back Draco wriggles out of his jogging bottoms and pants, hissing as he goes to rip his tshirt off.

“Here, let me,” Harry mutters and Draco smiles at him, a thick, relaxed smile that resonates in Harry’s chest. Taking a deep breath, he wraps his fingers in the hem of Draco’s tshirt, slowly peeling it off, revealing inch after inch of alabaster skin, harsh scars crossing it. They shine in the light and Harry feels sick. Draco should never have got to the stage where he would do this to himself. He slides the tshirt over Draco’s arms, careful not to touch the stripes on them, his heart pounding. Chucking the tshirt onto the floor next to his, he starts to kiss down Draco’s chest, needing to taste him. To love him. To show him that scars don’t make him less beautiful.

He swirls his tongue over Draco’s nipple, listening for the hitch of breath, focusing on the way that his back arches, feeling the slight tug on his hair. He kisses down, lower, feeling the soft bump where smooth skin becomes new scar, his hands gentle as Draco squirms, his cock leaking onto his stomach. It’s flushed pink, curved slightly, and Harry wants to suck it. So he does.

Sinking down onto Draco’s cock, he swirls his tongue around the head, tasting the heady saltiness of precome on his tongue. Draco whines, his hips pistoning, his hands tight in Harry’s hair. Breathing in deeply, Harry take Draco in further, feeling his cock brush against the back of his throat, and Draco cries out. It’s a wonderful sound, sending jolts of desire and Harry needs, wants, more. He pulls off Draco, drawing a groan from Draco’s lips.

“Draco, I want— fuck— can I? Fuck, I want to taste you,” Harry moans, nuzzling at the join between Draco’s leg and groin.

“Yes,” hisses Draco and relief floods through Harry, spiking his arousal and making him dizzy. Draco lifts his hips and Harry lifts Draco’s thighs to rest against his shoulders. The heady, musky scent of Draco fills his mind and his mouth waters as he licks a long stripe along the crevice, barely touching Draco’s hole, and finishing with a swirl around each bollock. Draco whines, breathy and erotic and Harry feels himself leaking in his pants. The fact that he’s still wearing pants is fucking ludicrous.

Draco’s fingers weave through his hair and he smirks, twisting his tongue down, lower and lower until he feels the furled skin of Draco’s entrance. He laps at it, running his tongue around the edge, hardening the tip and pressing in slightly, before flattening his tongue and pressing against it. Draco writhes above him, his fingers tight in Harry’s hair and Harry sighs into the earthy taste of Draco.

“You taste fucking delicious,” Harry breathes against Draco’s skin and Draco cries out, his back arching off the sofa. Harry moans, diving back between Draco’s perfect globes, feeling them pressed tight against his cheeks, deep smells and tastes surround him, filling him, driving him mad. He’s about to add a finger, needing to feel Draco’s heat around him, when Draco tugs at his hair. He moves up, kissing along Draco’s leg, his face wet with spit, until he meets Draco’s eyes.

They’re swimming, dark with lust, but also something else, and a delicate frown is on his face. Harry sits up, his heart pounding, his head suddenly clear. Something is wrong. Draco isn’t ok.

“Draco?” His voice is high, worried and Draco’s eyes flit away, that harsh blush rising in his chest again. “Draco, talk to me…”

“I— this— I want this but…” Draco starts, before taking a deep breath. Releasing Harry’s hair he props himself up on his arms and fixes Harry with a strong glare, almost daring him to say something. Harry just watches him, waiting. His head tilts up slightly, his pointed chin in the air. “I’ve never done this before. It’s my first time.”

~~~~~

Draco watches as surprise and something else flicker over Harry’s face, waiting for the moment that Harry is going to yell, to go silent, to walk out of Draco’s life forever. The moment drags on, the air static around them, too thick to breathe.

“Ok,” Harry states finally, standing, and Draco’s heart sinks. Harry doesn’t want him. He’s going to leave. Well, fine! If Harry doesn’t want him then he certainly isn’t going to waste any time wanting Harry. Something niggles at the back of his head, telling him he’s a liar and he scowls at it. Harry freezes, looking worried before holding a hand out for Draco. Draco’s heart jumps as he looks at it, his mind swirling as he tries to figure out what Harry means. Harry takes a very visible breath and smiles softly. “This isn’t just going to be a quick fuck, and I have a seventeen year old boy who just loves to burst into rooms unannounced.”

“Oh. Alright,” Draco replies, his body light. Harry does want him. Slowly. And he’s making sure they aren’t disturbed. He wraps his hand around Harry’s, solid and sure, and Harry leads him out of the living room. His cock bobs in front of him as they make their way up the stairs, shivers running through him as cool air brushes his skin. He’s ugly like this, scars visible. He knows it but, in this moment, it doesn’t matter. No one is here to see, and Draco focuses on the ripples of Harry’s back instead of his own arm, striped with jagged, pale lines.

“Teddy’s room is next to mine,” Harry says, breaking the tension in the air, as he leads them through the door of Draco’s room. Right. seventeen year old who is quite willing to burst into rooms, regardless of what is happening in them. Draco’s stomach tightens at the thought of what is about to happen, his arsehole fluttering in a new and interesting way, still damp from Harry’s tongue. Fuck. Harry’s tongue was on him. On his arsehole. And it was the most amazing thing he had ever felt in his life. Too good for someone like him.

Harry spins on the spot, dragging him close, and Draco doesn't have the time to think about anything else, because Harry’s lips are on his, tongue pushing into his mouth, arms wrapped around Draco’s waist, and pulling him closer. Draco runs his fingers through Harry’s hair, his heart pounding, his head swimming. He starts to walk backwards towards the bed, taking Harry with him. He knows, with absolute surety that this is what he wants. Now.

Collapsing onto the bed he drags Harry on top of him, spreading his legs wide as something tugs in his stomach, making his hips twitch and his arsehole clench around nothing. Harry grunts, a guttural noise that goes right to Draco’s groin, and moves his hands, wiggling his hips. And then they’re both gloriously naked and Draco can’t breathe.

“Please, Harry… I want you in me, please,” Draco chokes out the words, heat spreading through him at the admission. Harry whines, before diving back into a deep kiss, taking Draco’s breath away. Harry’s hands brush gently down Draco’s arms, the tickle sending jolts through Draco that he didn’t know he’d find so… arousing. He can almost feel Harry in him, everything is so sensitive, so responsive to Harry’s touch.

His fingers search lower as their mouths move together, tongues twining and bodies close. Harry murmurs something against Draco’s lips and then slick fingers brush at Draco’s hip, tilting his hips up and making Draco gasp. His nerves are on fire, his body aching, as Harry’s fingers grip his hip before sliding between them. There’s a light brush against his balls and he cries out, his lips leaving Harry’s as his head tilts backwards. Harry’s lips fasten onto Draco’s neck, his hips leaving Draco’s as his hand probes lower, his arm shaking next to Draco’s head with the strain of holding himself up on one arm.

“Harry…” Draco breathes, his body quivering as a tentative finger strokes along his arsecrease. It’s fucking sexy, but they’re slightly crushed together and Draco is worried about his arms. He really doesn’t want to bleed all over Harry’s sheets. Harry huffs, and sits up, his finger still stroking at Draco’s arse. His hair is a mess, his lips red and bee-stung, his glasses askew. He looks dishevelled and gorgeous and Draco breathes. This is real. Harry is really there. This is really happening. His stomach swoops and he forces himself not to curl up in a ball, not to run. Good things don’t happen to him. He doesn’t deserve them.

“You’re beautiful,” Harry says, surprising Draco. “You shine, did you know that?” 

“It’s the cream I have to put on,” Draco replies, not able to meet Harry’s eyes. His body burns in shame, toes curling and tears pricking the backs of his eyes. Soft fingers brush under his chin, tilting his head so that he’s forced to look at Harry and Harry smiles.

“No. It’s not.” There’s a raw sincerity in Harry’s eyes and Draco feels himself preen under Harry’s gaze. He’s beautiful. Even if it’s just to Harry. It probably isn’t enough, but it’s ok for now. Harry’s eyes flicker over his face, and he clearly sees, feels, something that he was looking for because his shoulders relax. His fingers slips backwards, cupping the back of Draco’s head as the other hand continues to stroke in long motions. Draco fights back the moan and Harry leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to Draco’s lips. “You know, this might be easier if you’re on your hands and knees… for the first time.”

Draco’s heart jumps, his legs shaking a little, and he bites his lip. On his hands and knees. Not being able to see Harry. No. He doesn’t like the idea of that. Harry’s hand leaves his arse and comes to run along his jaw, still slick from the conjured lube.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” he murmurs and Draco forces his eyes onto Harry’s. “It’s fine. We can do it this way. Just… talk to me, ok?” Relief washes through Draco, his legs stretching out, his back sinking into the bed slightly and he nods. Harry smiles, a bright, sparkling smile that makes Draco’s heart clench, before taking Draco’s mouth in a deep, lingering kiss. It’s all teeth and tongue, and it’s fucking perfect. And over too soon. 

Harry moves suddenly, lurching over Draco to pluck a pillow from behind him. Strong hands lift Draco’s hips as a pillow is placed underneath them. His body is tilted oddly, and he readjusts his shoulders, careful when he presses his arms into the bed, before Harry settles between his legs. His heart skips as Harry spreads his legs wider, cold air brushing at his hole as Harry massages his cheeks open.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.” Harry pierces him with a gaze and he takes a deep breath. His pulse is pounding and his ears are ringing and his skin tingles. Everywhere. He shakes his head, reaching with one hand for Harry’s. Harry lets go of his arse cheek, twining his long fingers with Draco’s and pressing him back as he leans over to kiss Draco deeply.

“Don’t stop. Just. Slow…” Draco murmurs against Harry and Harry nods. 

“As slow as you want,” Harry breathes and Draco’s body relaxes into the bed. Harry fingers moves back to his arse, massaging the cheeks, one fingers running over the rim of Draco’s arse. Those pangs of pleasure run through Draco again, his head swimming and he wraps his hands in the duvet, pulling it tight as mewls and whines escape his lips.

Eyes clenching shut, he gasps as Harry’s presses a finger into him, a harsh burn fizzling down his legs. Harry gently rubs at his arse cheek, murmuring soft spells, slick and cool lube soothing him. Catching Harry’s eye he nods once and Harry starts to move, finger pressing in, burning and stretching, before Harry cools it with a muttered spell. Pleasure and pain twist through Draco and he can’t stop himself from rocking against the bed, against Harry. He needs more. Wants more.

“Please, Harry,” he begs, not sure what he’s asking for and Harry nods, twisting the finger inside him until it presses against something that has Draco crying out. His prostate. It must be. He arches off the bed, and Harry leans over him, their lips colliding as Harry kisses him messily. One finger becomes two, and then three as Draco loses all control over his body. His heart pounds at the thought, but this is different. This isn’t anger and evil. This is passion and love. It feels like something Draco can lose control for.

Pressing one soft kiss to Draco’s forehead, Harry finally leans back. Another muttered spell and then his fingers leave Draco. Draco groans, his hips shifting as he searches for Harry again. The soft, spongy head of Harry’s cock presses against Draco hole and he shouts, pressing back, wanting to feel Harry inside him. Filling him up. Taking him over. Harry’s cock inches into him, a whole new level of tight stretch making Draco pant and Harry runs soft hands over his legs, relaxing him. Harry continues to rock into him, Harry’s cock pressing against his prostate, his legs numb and his head swimming. Harry finally bottoms out in Draco, and he can hardly move. He feels full, his arse throbbing, pleasure spiking through him. 

“Fuck, Draco, you look so gorgeous like this,” Harry coos and Draco’s chest aches. He looks gorgeous. Harry thinks he looks gorgeous. He can’t remember the last time he was told he looks gorgeous. Definitely not since… hmm. 

“Tell me, Harry, please,” he breathes and Harry chuckles, his cock twitching inside Draco.

“You’re so fucking good. Your arse looks so pretty around my cock, it takes it so well.” The words send shivers through Draco and he presses his arse onto Harry’s cock. Harry’s eyes meet his, the gaze intense, and Harry starts to move, slowly drawing in and out, his fingers linked with Draco’s. Draco reaches up, wrapping his hands around Harry’s shoulders and bringing him closer. He wants him closer. Harry’s lips are insistent against his and he feels rather than hears the words mumbled against his mouth. “The way you move. Fuck, Draco, you’re beautiful.”

“I never stopped thinking about you either,” Draco says back. Harry groans, his hips moving faster, his hands tight in Draco’s.

“Holy fuck, Draco…”

“Every time I changed. I needed you, I knew there would be something you could do.” He can’t stop the words pouring from his mouth. Magic crackles in the air and Draco can’t breathe, can’t think. All he can do is focus on the move of their bodies, the pleasure, Harry.

“You don’t need me. You’re so strong. You’re amazing.” Harry’s words punch into him and Draco comes between them, his balls tight and his muscles tense. He doesn’t see stars. His vision doesn’t go white. And, honestly, he wouldn’t even notice if it did. He nails dig into Harry’s back, and he holds him close, needing to feel someone, feel Harry next to him. Needing to remind himself that he’s alive, and that it isn’t perfect, but right now it’s ok. Harry follows a moment later, his hips thrusting erratically and his body tight to Draco’s.

They lie for a moment, panting against each other, before Harry slips off and out of him, taking his heat away. Draco whimpers embarrassingly and Harry smirks before shuffling up and diving under the covers. Draco rolls his eyes and follows. He flops down in the bed, his whole body aching and sensitive, and then turns to find Harry watching him.

“Is this how you thought your Christmas would end?” Harry asks and Draco can’t help but smile. Did he think he would end up in bed with the most gorgeous man he’s ever met. The man who he has been in love with since, fuck knows when. No. Definitely didn’t think that.

“To be honest, I thought I’d be having much more fun,” Draco quips and Harry digs his fingers into Draco’s side, tickling him until Draco can’t breathe with laughter. “Fine! Fine! Stop! I didn’t mean it!” he calls and Harry stops, gazing down at Draco as Draco tries to feel embarrassed. But there’s something in Harry’s look that forces him not to be.

“I love you.” Harry sounds so sure and Draco almost chokes.

“I love you, too.”

“Good.” Harry looks satisfied. “Just… I need you to be ok. I know it’s not going to be easy, and that it will take a long time. And I will be here whenever you need me. But… please… I can’t spend every month terrified…”

“Hey!” Draco runs his fingers through Harry’s hair, the strands soft against his skin and he glances down at his arms, streaked with scars. Harry looks so serious, staring at him, and he can’t help but give him a chaste kiss. “I promise I will try.”

“That’s good enough.” Harry whispers. And for the moment, it really is.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are seen, read and loved.


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